


Language of Love

by nightfallgoddess



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Italian Character(s), Italian Summer, M/M, Self-Discovery, Summer Romance, jimon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11808411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfallgoddess/pseuds/nightfallgoddess
Summary: A summer abroad brings Simon Lewis to the Italian countryside of Montefalco, where wine is ever flowing, and life is a constant adventure. When he meets Jace Herondale, a twenty-two-year old literature student from Kent staying at the Lightwood’s residence, he discovers there’s no language more difficult than the language of love.





	Language of Love

“I’m going to miss you so much," Clary sighed loudly as her pale skinny arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

The two of them were standing in front of security check at LaGuardia Airport saying their goodbyes.

Clary's red loosely curled hair tickled Simon's nose as he leaned in closer to tighten their embrace. He inhaled her familiar scent of paint, its acrid smell calmed by the hint of the vanilla essence she wore to mask it.

“It’s just three months, Fray."

This was the first time that either of them was spending the summer apart from each other since the first grade and it was hitting her harder than he thought it would.

Clary let out a small groan, tucking a red curl behind her ear before scrunching her nose at him. “I know…I'm sorry. I’m making this all about me. I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Hey,” Simon bopped her nose lightly with his index finger. The action always seemed to cheer her up whenever she was down. “I’ll be back faster than you can say _Ciao_.” A smile appeared on her lips and the corners of her eyes crinkled, changing large green eyes into small hidden gems, and she did indeed, laugh. Simon let out a relieved breath.

Clary looked behind him at the line, a sad look flashing momentarily on her face before turning to him with a small smile. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a leather-bound journal and handed it to him. “Since I won’t be with you for your birthday, I thought I’d give this to you now.” The leather was dark brown with a slight wear and tear in certain areas which gave it a vintage look. Two thin straps of leather wrapped around, securing the pages with a single binding knot in the middle.

“Maybe it’ll inspire some new songs while you’re there.”

“It’s great." Simon leaned down and kissed her cheek lightly. “Thank you.” He unzipped his bag and put the journal inside.

“Welcome." Her reply was so soft he barely heard it, but he hadn't missed the sad tilt in her voice.

“I should get going.” Simon motioned to the thinning security line. His flight was to leave in under twenty minutes and he wanted to make sure he made it to his gate without any delay, because it often felt as if the most inopportune inconveniences occurred right before an important moment and he definitely was not planning on missing _this_ important moment.

Reluctantly, Clary nodded, worrying at her lower lip, before reaching up to give him another hug. “Don’t be afraid to let go and experience the moments," she encouraged him firmly but with years of affection, pulling away, then playfully socking him on his shoulder. “Also, try not to over analyze every single thing, okay?”

“I don’t over analyze every single thing,” he replied with feigned defiance as he rubbed his arm. For such a small person, she had a mean right hook. He guessed having a cop for a dad had its perks...or curses, from Simon's unfortunate point of view. "...just _some_ things.”

Clary raised an eyebrow, shaking her head as if she were dealing with a child and not her nineteen year old best friend.“We both know that's not true." She gave him a knowing look. "Get a hold of me when you can.”

Apparently, the Italian countryside was not averse to having the best reception signals. Wi-Fi was unheard of, or at least, not readily available, according to his soon to be host father. So, he had decided leaving everything connecting to the outside world back at the loft he and Clary shared was probably the best way to really enjoy the trip, that way he wouldn't be tempted to spend his summer playing D&D when he was bored, but instead, use it to explore the vastness of Italy that he was being allowed to wonder.

Even then in that moment, his hands felt unsure of themselves. They were so used to having that familiar weight. A whole summer in the Italian countryside with limited internet access would be the test of a lifetime. Three months without a cell phone? He could handle that, right? Well, He was ready to prove all the millennial haters wrong!

“Okay, _mom, "_ he replied _,_ making a funny face at her. "I promise to check in at night before bed and every morning when the birds begin to chirp," he teased, grabbing his backpack from the floor and over his shoulders.

Clary pushed him into the thinning line with a laugh. “Get going or else I’ll really start acting like your mom,” she retorted, finally sounding like his best friend again.

"Jeeze." Simon fake shivered. "Last time I checked my mother never hit me." He sidestepped out of the way with a startled laugh when she came after him. 

Following the small line to security check, his hands gripped the thick straps of his bag as he felt his stomach drop, because every step he took now, would be a step closer to being on the other side of an ocean. He stopped and turned to give one last goodbye to his best friend, lifting his hand to send a wave, expecting to see her watching him go. Instead, he found the back of her bright red head, walking away, an arm coming up to her face to wipe away, what he guessed were tears. 

 _God, she is so dramatic_ , he thought with a smile. Clary was dramatic and sometimes (okay a lot of the times) was rash and danger prone, but she was also kind and loving, and Simon knew that the tears were there because she cared so much. And was why, he couldn't imagine having anyone else as his best friend. 

Security check went without a hitch and around the corner down a long walkway leading to the terminal gates, Simon's steps began to slow down. He was spending an entire summer  _In Italy_. The country of love. Shakespeare's setting for one of the most famous love stories, _Romeo and Juliet,_ and a country known for it's beauty and history and he couldn't wait to completely lose himself in it all. 

 

*     *     *

 

The sky was filled with puffy white clouds as he stared out the small airplane window. He was so glad that he'd chosen the window seat when picking his seat online.

Simon leaned his head against it as the mesmerizing sound of Sufjan Steven’s peaceful voice hummed lowly in his ears. After a few minutes of day dreaming, he sat back and relaxed in his seat. _Non parlo molto bene l’italiano._ He turned another page of the Italian language guide book he purchased before he left.

As a fluent Spanish speaker, Italian wasn't  _too_ difficult of a language to dissect, but he still needed the practice.

A loud gurgled snore sounded from the old white woman who he sat in the seat beside him. Looking iver, Simon had to choke back laughter when he saw what was written on a hot pink sleeping mask with the words.

“No, I’m not dead” was written in white loopy cursive, covered her eyes as she slept.

Betty, she had introduced herself as, had completely conked out after the dinner meal where he had watched her order, not one, but two cups of wine, which has been downed with practiced ease.

Simon had settled with just water, being nineteen and all.

“Please make your way to your seats at this moment. We’ll be arriving in Rome on time in just under fifteen minutes," the pilot’s voice boomed through the intercom as Simon closed the book in his lap.

Then, the pilot ended the message with _Grazie e benvenuti in Italia. Welcome to Italy._

A slow smile formed on his lips. Italy was only fifteen minutes away. So close, he could already touch it. He tried to force himself to take a short nap before they landed, but his stomach was not having it as it twisted into nervous knots below and ater a few minutes of failed attempts at sleeping, he gave up and watched the endless blue sky as it led him to his destination. 

 

The airport was ridiculously crowded when they unloade off the plane. He now stood among the rest of the passengers at the baggage claim.

He checked his new hand watch on his wrist. It had already changed to Italian time.The Lightwoods, the Italian family he was staying with for the summer, said they'd be there to receive him when he’d arrived. He looked nervously at the mass of incoming luggage, not recognizing any of them as his own. Finally with what felt like twenty million turns later, a familiar black suitcase slowly came around the corner with a red ribbon tied around the handle. Next to the suitcase, was his sticker covered guitar case.

Simon pushed his way through the queue and reached out, pulling his stuff off the baggage belt with a grunt and quickly headed toward the main part of the airport, where he was greeted by summer heat and a horde of Italian citizens gathered to receive those who have arrived.

His tired brown eyes scoured through the crowd looking for familiar faces that had any resemblance to the ones in the emailed picture.

“Simon!”

A deep accented Italian voice called out, making him turn his head around to find Robert Lightwood, followed by his wife, Maryse, hurriedly making their way towards him.

“ _Benvenuto!”_ Robert flung his arms around Simon in a crushing hug reaching him first, then placed delighted kisses across both sides of Simon's cheeks. The older man smelled faintly of grapes and dirt,  Simon noticed, which made sense since the Lightwood's owned a vineyard out in the country side. 

“We are so happy you are here,” Maryse said warmly, coming up behind her husband and kissing Simon on both cheeks, too. “How was the flight?” 

“Long," he replied with a tired smile, suddenly feeling the fatigue of a long distance flight.

"Of course, you must be exhausted," Maryse nodded her head in understanding. "Here, let me take your bag."

"Oh, no you don't ha-" Simon started to protest, but she ignored him and took his bag from his hand.

He instantly felt lighter and gave her a thankful smile, looking into kind brown eyes.

Maryse was even more beautiful in person than the picture her husband had sent of their entire family. Everything about her was relaxed and welcoming. She was curvy, motherly and soft, but still exhibited firm muscles in her arms, probably from working in the vineyard. Her black hair was held back into a low ponytail, framing her open face, softly.She wore a simple white sundress that hit her ankles with light ruffles and strappy leather sandals a few shades darker than her olive complexion. Her eyes were a deep brown and above them were smoothly arched eyebrows, framing soft cheekbones.

Robert, however, looked exactly like his photo−bald and fatherly. He had a neatly-trimmed black beard and thick black eyebrows. His almost black eyes were open and expressive, the kind of eyes that Simon knew held years of stories to tell.

" _Dai._ Let’s go." Robert took his other bag from his hand and led ahead while Simon and Maryse followed couple steps behind and chatted about the details of the flight.

Several minutes later, towards the back of the parking lot, they arrived in front of a sienna colored truck. It looked way too small to fit all three of them, but he said nothing as he helped Robert load the luggage into the bed of the truck before all three of them slide in: Robert at the wheel and Maryse in the passenger seat, while he squeezed into the single seat in the back.

“Sorry for the tight fit." Robert pulled out of the parking lot. "We had quite a long day out on the vineyard and didn’t have time to change vehicles."

“No problem, I'm used to tight fits” Simon said, adjusting more comfortably in his seat, then winced at what he had said and all the double meanings it produced. "I mean, I'm  used to tight fits in cabs and ubers in New York," he clarified trying to cover up his flub, but Maryse and Robert hadn't even seemed to notice.

Simon rested his chin on his hand and looked at the passing city of Rome.The windows were rolled down and he couldn't help the sigh that escaped him as a cool breeze filtered through his hair. A refreshing contrast to the outside Italian heat, which had strangled him upon arrival.

“I hope your experience here will be one for the books,” Maryse said from the front.

Simon opened his eyes, meeting the woman's smile and returning it. “It will,” he said confidently. _I know it will_ , he repeated in his head.

                            *     *     *

 Driving into the countryside of Italy was like driving through time. Men rode colorful bicycles along the side of the road, their tanned skin glistening under the sun, as they peddled on. Elderly women in simple flowy dresses walked through the streets to the open markets in flat black shoes and sandals.They passed through winding streets between small mountains, where everything was green and earthy, accented by lush gardens in front of homes filled with colorful flowers, and some, with vegetables. “It’s beautiful,” Simon said absently, eyes glued to the passing landscape.

It took his breath away the way the land seemed to breathe life into the country. In New York, you'd be happy enough to see a park, let alone rolling hills and flower gardens.

“ _Sì_.” Maryse agreed. “I have lived here all my life and its beauty still amazes me.” She pointed out several small villages as they drove by them. Houses made of stone sat on top of mountains and small hills, creating a mysterious maze of architecture begging to be explored.

“I hope you’re hungry, Simon,” Robert asked from the driver’s seat. “Our Isabelle is cooking up a great meal as we speak.”

Simon looked out the window where the sky had now turned to a light dusk. It had to be at least six or seven in the evening.

“Isn’t it too late for dinner?”

Maryse laughed gently at his question in a way a mother did when their child said something silly.

" _Too late_   _for dinner_ is not in our lexicon. We Italians always eat dinner around this time. I'm guessing it is not like that back in the states?" She looked over her shoulder. Before he could answer her, his stomach lent itself to the conversation, releasing a loud growl.

Maryse and Robert chuckled, Simon blushed sheepishly and they continued down the Italian countryside with the sky painted in red and gold. 

 

Montefalco was a small town in the central part of the Italian province of Perugia. Main streets spiraled up like the shell of a sea-snail. Its lofty position created a gorgeous view of the alluring fertile plains below. Simon’s eyes went wide as Robert led them through the old outskirts of the town.They approached a large vineyard which looked to stretch at least seven acres back as the sun set on the field, casting a golden shadow on the vines.

Grapevines were perfectly spaced in  _trellis,_ or posts, which created row orientations, allowing the spacing between them to be adequate for the vines to grow appropriately. “This is ours." Robert pointed to the large land in front of them. “ _La mia famiglia_ has been making wine for fourteen generations on this land,” he said proudly as the truck approached the end of it. 

“It's incredible," Simon exclaimed. "Does that mean your home is not too far from here?” With that, Robert made a sharp turn down a dirt road that led to an arching gate. He drove them through it which lead down a narrow path opening up to reveal a large house. “Yo-you live here?” he ogled, looking up at the large stone architecture before him.

Robert parked the truck in a drive way up a slope next to the house.

“ _Sì_. This is _la nostra casa”_ Maryse said, getting out of the truck. “It is not what you were expecting?”

“Not one bit,” he replied, hopping out of the truck. His feet landed on small multicolored pebbles the size of quarters which seemed to sparkle like gems in the late afternoon glow.

He went behind to the back of the truck and pulled out his guitar case and backpack. Robert had already removed his suitcase. Looking up, Simon took in the large Italian styled house in front of him. A three story villa made of stone−the color of burnt yellow. The roof was slanted covered by overlapping terracotta tiles. Dark green shutters were open in every window, letting white curtains flow in and out of them with the light breeze. Green vines reached with wide arms up and around the front and sides of the house, and decorated flower pots of varied different sizes, were placed in the front entrance.

“ _Mamma! Papà!_ ”A young boy around nine years appeared at the door then sprinted towards them so fast he worried that he'd trip and fall. But the boy made it in one piece as he went straight to Maryse and jumped into her already outstretched arms.

Max, Maryse and Robert’s youngest child, Simon recognized from the family photo.

He watched as Max gave his mother kisses on both cheeks, then turned and did the same to Robert. Then, he turned to Simon. “Simon! You’re finally here!” Max exclaimed with the same accented English as his parents, yet he looked nothing like Maryse and Robert, except for the same dark brown eyes which were young and filled with a carefreeness that reminded Simon so much of his younger cousins.

Max's face was much fairer than his parents. A sprinkling of light brown freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheeks, went with light brown hair which curled slightly below the ears. He wore red shorts that reached his knees and a Batman t-shirt that seemed a little bit too big for him.

“Hey, Max.” Simon walked over to him and returned the hug he received. “Wow! You’re so much taller in person.”

Max preened at Simon's words, animated dimples appearing in his cheeks like dots. "I’m tallest in my class!” The smaller boy's attention shifted as quickly as the wind and he turned to something behind Simon.“You play _la chitarra_?!” The younger boy gasped, his brown eyes growing big as he stared at the guitar case.

Simon chuckled. “Yeah, I brought it with me just in case inspiration hit.”

“You won’t have any trouble with that," said a smooth female voice behind him.

Simon turned around to find one of the most gorgeous girls he had ever seen.

Maryse and Robert's daughter, Isabelle.

She was leaning lazily against the bed of the truck dressed in olive green shorts and a black tank top that showed off smooth unblemished golden skin. Her hair was black, just like her mother’s, flowing down her shoulders and framing a very petite face. Her nose was straight and slightly upturned, which complimented her high cheekbones.

Slender dark eyebrows arched over long thick black eyes lashes, giving her brown eyes levity as she walked over to him. Simon turned his face to the side for the expected cheek kiss.

“Welcome to our home.” She pulled back with a smile. "It's great to finally meet you."

A blush rose to his cheeks for no other reason than the fact that Isabelle was hot, and usually, more like never, hot girls didn’t give him the time of day, let alone a kiss on the cheek. "Than− _Grazie_ ,” Simon corrected himself, remembering to try to use as much of Italian as he could. “I’m very excited to be here.”

“And we are excited that you are.” She smiled up at him again and Simon felt himself smile back. “I hope my father has told you that we have a special dinner tonight.”

“He did." His mouth began to water. "I can’t wait to taste everything.”

“Good.”

“Isabelle, why don’t you show Simon to his rooms?”

Maryse was now sitting now on a small bench in front of the house, Robert sitting next to her, a lazy arm thrown over her shoulders while his thumb rubbed gently at the exposed skin there. They seemed to be one of those couples, who even when they weren't aware, gravitated towards one another, unable to deprive the other of touch.

It made Simon's heart warm remembering how similar it was to how his mom and dad had been around each other. 

"Rooms?” Simon asked, slightly confused.

“ _Sì_." Mayrse nodded. "You’ll be living _lì.”_  She pointed behind him.

Across the road from the main house was a tall tower- a miniature stone castle, you could say, with the same coloring as the main house, and small vines winding up to the tallest point. He wished he had a dog next to him, because he would have totally looked down in that moment and said, _Toto_ , _I don't think we're in New York, anymore._

Unfortunately, his inner dialogue would have to do.

“I get to live there?” He took a couple of staggering steps towards it. “Alone?" For some reason, Simon had thought they'd shack him up in a tiny guest room or in a room with their youngest. But this...this was paradise. 

“There are two floors,” Maryse answered with a smile and nod, then began to explain the layout. “The upper level is your bedroom. The bathroom is on the lower level along with a resting area and a small kitchen, though I hope you’ll take your meals with us in the house.”

“Yes, of course," he replied quickly. He could cook, sure, but he was no Gordon Ramsey, and the last time he and Clary had decided to make lasagna for dinner this one time, they had almost burned down their entire apartment. Simon did not want to repeat that event. " _Grazie mille._ ”

“ _Di nulla,_ Simon. It is our pleasure. I hope it is to your likening. You’ll have a lot of privacy.” Maryse walked over to him and placed a gentle hand to his cheek. Simon couldn't help but to lean into the motherly gesture. “Why don’t you relax for a bit and we’ll call you when it’s time for _la cena_.”

He nodded and followed Isabelle into the stone cottage.

Entering the main floor, just like Maryse had said, was a small living area. A large red rug covered the stone floor underneath a futon, and a wooden chair was placed in the corner near one of the windows across the front entrance.The kitchen to his left was compact and simple with a small marble basin as a sink and a stove next to it. “The bathroom has brand new towels for you, along with, shampoo and soap for washing.” Isabelle pointed to his right.

The bathroom was reasonably sized, with a toilet and a sink. In the far corner was a cream colored claw-foot tub with a translucent shower curtain hanging above it.

She walked over to a spiral stone staircase leading up to the upstairs bedroom. Simon watched her pull down the roll handle of his suitcase, and before he could offer his help, she lifted the suitcase with graceful ease and walked up the stairs. He followed her up the stairs. She pushed open the thick dark wood door and once again, he was blown away by the beautiful simplicity of the room, with it's stone surroundings and open floor.

Isabelle placed his suitcase on the floor at end of a large oak bed frame with a mattress that looked thick and inviting. It was covered with thin smooth white sheets, and white fluffy pillows, arranged neatly. He looked up at the ceiling which stretched high up to reveal a circular stained glass covering. A range of blue, greens, reds, and yellows filtered through the shards of glass, casting one area of the room in a rainbow. On the opposite side of the room was a large window, covered by white translucent drapes, which led out to a small balcony.

 Simon walked over to it and peered out. The sight that greeted him were the beautiful plains of Montefalco as the sun disappeared between the hills. 

“If you need to change your sheets for any reason, there is a small closet here,” she pushed back the door to reveal a small space with folded bed spreads and pillow cases on the shelves. "Feel free to help yourself to any of them.”

“I will." He sat down on the edge of the bed. " _Grazie_.”

“ _Prego_ ,” she replied. “Rest _per un po’._ I’ll send the _diavoletto_ over to come and fetch you when _la cena_ is ready.”

Simon laughed picking up the nickname for the youngest Lightwood,  _Little devil_.

Isabelle left the room, shutting the door behind her with a small click.

Simon looked around the room, it finally dawned on him that he was four thousand miles away from the busy streets of Brooklyn. He was in a different country all by himself and It felt slightly weird being so far away from home, but he brushed it off.

Living in Italy for three months wasn't something everyone could say that was how they spent their summer break and Simon planned on making the most of it. He fell onto the bed with a happy sigh.

 

*     *     *

Simon felt much more awake and eager to eat after taking a cool shower and changing into jeans and a white buttoned down shirt, before heading out to the main house.In front of the open lawn was a long wooden table covered with an opulent amount of food. He hadn’t noticed when he'd first arrived, but spiraled up on several trees arching over the house, were twinkle lights and now, under the night sky, they glimmered, casting a soft luminescence across the front yard.

Robert motioned him to sit in the seat across the table from Isabelle.

She had changed, replacing her casual attire from earlier into a simple white halter dress. Her lips were stained red, the color of the ripest apple and they tilted into a smirk when she caught him staring at her.

Simon looked down at his empty plate his face flushing with warmth.

Maryse sat bowl of salad down in between a dish of pasta and some kind of chicken, and took a seat next to her husband.

“Let us bow our heads for grace,” Robert said as everyone settled down in their seats.

Simon awkwardly did so not used to the non-Jewish ritual of saying grace, but he also realized that it was only respectable for him to join in something that was clearly important to their dinner ritual.

At the end of the short and heartfelt prayer blessing the food, the rest of the family said “Amen” in unison, while he simply nodded his head.

“Enjoy your first taste of Italy.” Isabelle motioned to the food of her making.

“It all looks great." Simon wanted to tear into everything, but he held back, because his mother taught him _some_ self-restraint. "Could you explain some of the dishes to me?”

Isabelle explained all the delicious looking food displayed on the table. P _izzette e salatini_ , _spaghetti al tartufo_ , _gnudi di ricotta_ and _prosciutto e melone_. As each serving was passed around Isabelle proudly pointed out the dishes she had prepared.

Simon scooped a little bit of everything onto his plate. He loved food. His mother always laughed at how much he could manage to eat all the time and not look like one of those people in the weight loss commercials and honestly, he wondered how too. He could already hear her saying, all the way from New York, "S _imon, slow down, the food isn’t going to run away."_

He took a bite of the _gnudi di ricotta_ and moaned appreciatively, as the strong flavor of spices and tomato-butter sauce filled his thankful taste buds. 

“I’m guessing you like the _gnudi di ricotta_?” Isabelle laughed at his love affair with her cooking. “It is one my favorites, too.”

He swallowed the food before answering., because his mom at least taught him  _some_ table manners. “It’s so good. I can’t believe I’ve lived my life thus far without tasting this until now,” he replied before taking several more large bites of the ravioli.

The rest of the table laughed.

“Would you like some _vino rosso_?” Isabelle suggested, motioning to a pitcher filled with red liquid in front of her.

Simon looked around the table, realizing that all of the Lightwood’s glasses had been filled with deep red wine, even Max had his own portion of wine, albeit smaller than the rest of them. He had almost forgotten how much wine was a part of Italian culture. Wine was even sometimes referred to as the heart of Italy and was as common to have with every meal, as milk was with cereal.

In the States, it was usually used for special occasions or the result of a nasty break up. In Italy, it was a part of life, and he wanted to be a part of it, even if he wasn't technically “legally” of drinking age. _But, hell, when in Italy_! Isabelle poured him healthy amount of the wine. “ _Grazie_ ,” he thanked her, signaling her to stop before she poured to the brim.

The wine was a little dry, but only slightly. It tasted like a mixture of sweet, sour, and bitter all at once. Simon closed his eyes, savoring the taste, taking another sip from the glass before placing it down in front of him and turning to the head of the table, at Robert. “I noticed that Alexander isn’t here," he said. The Lightwoods had another son named Alexander. He was two years older than Isabelle.

“Ah _si_. Alec is stopping back on his way home from Uni at Montepulciano to purchase new equipment for the vineyard. We are in harvest season,” Robert wiped his mouth with a napkin. "He should be back tomorrow morning.”

The rest of dinner was spent answering questions from Max about New York. He answered questions about where he grew up, his mother, Clary and school and in return, Max excitedly told him of all his favorite superheroes.

Simon smiled approvingly when Max said that his favorite superhero of all time was Spider-Man.

The kid was going places.

Max also mentioned a lake, down the hill not too far from the Lightwood's house, which the family often went to if was too hot, and if happened to be too crowded, there was an in-ground pool in their backyard.

After dinner, he helped Isabelle and Max clear the table as their parents took a quiet stroll through the small garden near the side of the house.

Once the table was cleared, Isabelle told Max to go and wash up for bed.

Inside the main house, the walls were painted in a light teal color. Paintings hung off the walls all around the large open floor. Many of them were of Italy with landscapes of green hills and valleys. A wooden piano was beneath a window overlooking the front of the house.

The kitchen was such a contrast to the crowded loft kitchen he and Clary shared back in Brooklyn. While his and Clary's was crowded and a fire hazard waiting to happen, the kitchen was open and spacious, and felt lived in.

An empty space in the middle of the kitchen, was where the rectangular table outside, was probably usually placed. Next to a stainless stove was a large stone cooking fire place, tonight's dinner still lingering through the air.

Simon placed several empty plates on the marble kitchen counter top. Isabelle squirted soap into a basin sink while water poured through the faucet .

She held her hand out, palm up, as if expecting something.So, Simon handed her a dirty plate. "You don’t have to help,” Isabelle looked up as she scraped leftover food off the plate, and into a small trash bin, by her feet. “I’m sure you’re still jet lagged. Why don’t you go back and retire for the night?”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind." He felt tired, but not too tired to not help. His mother once told him that the hand that prepared food for others should not be the same hand used to wash up. 

“I’m sure.” Isabelle scrubbed diligently at the plate with a fluffy yellow sponge. Soap bubbles floated up from the basin and he popped one with his finger. “Tomorrow morning we will bike to town so I can give you a tour,” she informed him. “And for that, you must get a good night’s rest.”

“That sounds great.” Simon handed her another plate, then wiped his hands on a dishtowel hanging from a wooden hook beneath a cabinet. “Is there a place I can use a computer to contact my parents and best friend to let them know I’ve arrived in one piece?” 

“ _Sì_. There is an internet café next to the town _biblioteca._ It's not too far. We can visit there first, before I show you around.”

“Perfect," he said. "Oh, and Isabelle?  _Grazie_ _ancora_ for the wonderful food. My first meal in Italy will be memorable thanks to you.”

Isabelle tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, cheeks reddening slightly and giggled lightly before responding. “You flatter me. It was no hassle at all. I enjoy cooking for others.”

“You want to own your own restaurant, right?” He asked, remembering some details from the email description Robert had sent him. "That's really cool.

She nodded, drying a wine glass with a small dish towel, then placing it to dry on a wooden wrack."It has been my dream since I was _una bambina."_ Her face lit up."I hope one day it comes true."

“Well, if tonight’s dinner was any indication of your abilities as a chef, I think you’re very well on your way to achieving that dream,” he praised.

Simon could totally see her in her own restaurant, in a chef hat and everything, running around and making sure everything was perfection. And from dinner that night, he had no doubt that everything would be. 

“ _Grazie_ , Simon.” Isabelle turned to him, her cheeks flushing again. “ _Buonanotte_ ”

“ _Buonanotte,_ ” he replied and left the main house and made his way to his castle.

It sounded weird to call it that...his castle. But he really couldn't think of anything else to call it besides a tower, which reminded him of the London Tower and that shit creeped him out. Scary stuff happened there. So, yeah, mini castle would have to do. 

He walked up the stairs to his new bedroom for the summer, steps becoming slow and heavy from the weight of a full stomach, and jet lag. He unpacked his suitcase, placing stacks of clothing into a small wooden dresser on the other side of the room.

Then he brushed his teeth and washed his face, before walking back up to his bedroom. A few minutes later, he was lying down on his side in his new bed, in his boxers and a loose fitted white t-shirt. Simon reached over the side of the bed and opened his backpack, pulling out the leather bound journal Clary had given him as an early birthday present, then sat the journal on top of the small bedside table with a smile, thinking about all the words he couldn't wait to fill its pages with. 

“Italy,” he muttered, eyes beginning to droop, and turned off the lamp. “Tomorrow, I’m yours.” Soft pillows embraced his head like clouds and sleep overtook him in only seconds.

 

 *     *     *

 

“ _Buongiorno_ ” Simon greeted as he walked into the Lightwood’s kitchen the next morning. He found only Maryse standing by the stove, pouring coffee from a silver kettle into a red clay mug.

  _"Buongiorno,_ Simon."

"Where is everyone?" The house was quiet, with only the sound of the kettle quietly humming on the stove, and the sound of birds chirping.

“Robert is out on the vineyard with Alexander and Jace assembling the new equipment," Maryse answered, stirring her drink."They arrived earlier this morning while you were asleep. Isabelle is getting dressed upstairs, and Max is at a neighbor’s home, playing with friends.”

She then, walked over with a full plate of eggs, several slices of bacon, and a side of strawberries, and placed it down on the table in front of him.

Simon thanked her and took a bite of the eggs. Ah...perfection. “Who's Jace?” he asked before swallowing.

Maryse paused slightly, then took a seat across from him, taking a cautious sip from her mug, before answering his question. “Oh! we must have forgotten to mention that to you in the email,” she answered with a wince, pulling away from her steaming cup. “Jace is Alexander’s best friend and roommate at the University of Sienna. He'll also be spending the summer with us." She blew on her cup gently before trying another sip.

When she said this, Simon  noticed that her voice sounded weird, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. “Oh, that’s nice,” he replied with a shrug and took a bite of the bright red strawberry in between his thumb and index finger.

“I’m actually heading out there this morning.” Maryse got up and rinsed out her mug in the sink. “You and Isabelle should stop by on your way back from town. Robert and the boys will still be there.”

“Sounds good." He walked over to the sink to put his plates in to wash. "I’ve been itching to see the vineyard up close.” That's when  Isabelle walked down the stairs looking effortless in long jean overalls that curled up at her ankles and a cream colored peasant top underneath which aired up from the breeze entering the room.

Her face was bare of makeup and her long black hair was styled into a single thick braid down her back. " _Buongiorno,_ ” she said cheerfully. She kissed her mother on the cheek, then grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. “Did you sleep well?” Isabelle turned to him, taking a bite of her apple.

“Like a baby," Simon answered and leaned back against the sink. “You were right. I really needed that sleep.”

“I tend to be,” she teased, taking another bite from her apple. “If you’re ready, we should probably get going.” Isabelle walked out the door the front door. He said goodbye to Maryse and followed her daughter.

Simon jogged over to help Isabelle as she pulled out a bicycles from a small shed by the house.The bicycle he pushed forward was dark brown with two black large round wheels in the front and back, which take up most of the length of it. A small knit basket was attached to the front between the handles. Isabelle’s was a turquoise colored one, like sea foam.

“If we hurry, we can make it right when the café opens," she informed, climbing onto her bicycle, smoothly. “There are only two computers there and sometimes it can get crowded with people eager to use them.”

Isabelle took off down the path, heading towards the open gated entrance and Simon mounted his own, kicking off the ground and peddling down the hill to catch up.

They rode next to each other down the road that leads into town. The sun was high and saffron yellow. Sweat rolled down the back of his shirt as they peddled up another steep hill.Several cars sped by, honking high pitched horns and waving as they zoomed past him and Isabelle.

Old Montefalco came into view four miles later, and the closer they got, the more breathtaking it looked.The whole city was built into the side of the mountains.Private garden terraces with plants and passageways made of cobblestone and brick alley ways were found in every corner.

They passed a couple fountains, several shops selling bread and handmade jewelry, and a large stone statute of Saint Claire of Montefalco. 

His nose picked up the very rich, slightly earthly, almost narcotic smell of life all around him, as he got lost in the haze of Italy.

“The café is up there,” Isabelle shouted over her shoulder, jolting him from the spell. She pointed to a small building ahead.They got off their bikes and walked the rest of the way. Several souvenir stood in a line on the edge of the streets.

Isabelle stopped at one that sold what looked to be _gelato,_ Italian ice-cream.The woman at the stand handed Isabelle two short cups of gelato and Isabelle handed one to him.

“My treat." She took out several euros out of her pocket and gave to the woman, who thanked her. 

“ _Grazie_.” Simon thanked the woman and picked up the mini spoon and took a bite of the cold treat. Creamy flavored fruity ice cream melted on his tongue, deliciously.

He and Isabelle finished their gelato silently, watching people come and go, before making their way to the cafe.

They placed their bikes on the side of a tree near the building and walk in. Inside the café, was a sprinkling of people sitting at small iron tables, leisurely drinking coffees and pastries. It looked as if the two of them managed to beat the morning crowd Isabelle had warned about. Isabelle walked up to the register and exchanged quick Italian with the male worker behind it. He handed her a piece of paper, pointing to two ancient looking computers, in a back corner. She turned to Simon, quirking her head to the corner.

“This is your temporary log in and password for the remainder of your stay.” She handed him the slip of paper. “Keep it with you, or, try to memorize it, because they tend not to give replacements if you lose it.”

It took several minutes for the computer to boot, but once the familiar windows screen appeared, he quickly pulled up his email and sent a detailed message to his mother, who he was sure would relay to his sister. He then logged into Facebook chat. A green dot on Clary’s profile picture indicated that she was online, to his surprise.

“Hey carrot,"  Simon messaged her, then looked down at the corner of his screen. It was about nine thirty in Italy, which meant it was almost three in the morning in New York.

The chat showed her typing and moments later a message popped up. “Stop calling me that." Simon smiled, imaging Clary typing grumpily, hunched over her laptop in room, desk completely covered by sketches, and a cup of coffee held in her free hand.

If she was up this early, it meant she had either woken up from one of her occasional nightmares or had a deadline due for her summer course, and was only now working on it. The word  procrastinator was named after her. He typed out a reply, smirking as it sent. “In your dreams carrot,” appeared in the box. He could feel her eye roll from behind the screen.

“Enough about carrots," she sent back with an emoji of a carrot. "Tell me how Italy is! Is it everything that you imagined it to be?”

“It’s even better,” Simon smiled as his fingers type quickly on the keyboard. “The town I’m staying in looks straight out of an ancient historical site with stone passageways and castles, and everything.”

“That sounds awesome,” she sent. “What are you doing today?”

“Isabelle is going to give me a tour, then we’re going to go down to her family’s vineyard on our way back,” he typed back.

“What is she like? Is she really that pretty like in the picture?” Clary asked.

Simon had shown her the photo of the Lightwood family that Robert had sent. Isabelle had caught her eye. “She’s great. Nice. And yes, she really is that pretty,” He sent back, then continued typing. “Also, she is an amazing cook. I wish you were here to taste it.”

“Me too." Clary responded. “But I guess Frankie Spuntino’s will have to do for me, as of now.”

He grinned at the mention of their favorite Italian restaurant in downtown Brooklyn. Although Spuntino’s was amazing, now that he had tasted authentic Italian dishes, Simon wasn't sure if he could ever experience his favorite Italian restaurant the same, without thinking about and comparing it to Isabelle’s cooking. 

The chat with Clary lasted for five more minutes before they said their goodbyes and he promised to get in touch in a couple of days. Simon signed out of the café’s computer, then stepped back into the Italian sun. He found Isabelle talking to a blonde girl across the street. She looked up from her conversation , finally noticing him, and waved him over. He crossed the street and walked over.

Her name was Lydia, the blonde introduced herself. She worked at the library across the street as a history archive manager and was from California. She was very pretty. Shoulder length blonde hair reflected light gold in the sunlight and her blue eyes, like the sea, were filled with friendliness when she smiled.

“How are you enjoying Montefalco?” Lydia asked, her voice is relaxed and soft. A slow smile appears on her full lips, showcasing perfect white teeth.

“Good so far.”

“Lydia has lived here for about three years now?” Isabelle piped up, looking at Lydia to confirm if she's correct.

Lydia gave Isabelle a smile. “Yeah, that’s right. I came here about three years ago for an internship at the library, and loved it so much that I decided to stay.” She slid a ponytail holder from her wrist and pulled her hair back and tied it into a low messy bun. “Isabelle tells me that you are a student at NYU? I have a friend that attends school there.”

“Yeah. I’m a freshman. Performance arts major," Simon explained. "I’m here on a study abroad scholarship.”

“You chose a very special place to spend your summer. I fell in love with Italy so much, I stayed and speaking of the reason I stayed, I have to get back to work,” Lydia motioned at the library across the street.“You're always welcome to stop by any time during your stay here and check out a book or two.” She kissed his cheek, then Isabelle’s and crossed the street with a wave.

“She’s nice,” Simon said, turning his head to Isabelle when there was no response.She was looking where Lydia had gone, a longing look on her face and a rosy tint to her cheeks, that could have easily been the result of the heat outside, but Simon thought it to be something more.

“Yeah,” Isabelle replied finally, with a sigh. “She is.”

Simon bit the insides of his mouth to hide his smile. D _efinitely something more_. “Shall we go on the tour now?” Her eyes finally turned to him, but then casted one last glance back at the library. “I was thinking we could grab a quick lunch at Hodge’s restaurant on our way back.”

"Lead the way," Simon said and followed her down a cobble walkway as she began her impassioned history lesson about Montefalco.

 

Simon's feet were sore from all the biking as he sat under a shaded part of the small restaurant. Isabelle was inside helping the owner of the place, Hodge Starkweather, prepare their meal.

As they biked there, Isabelle had explained  how Hodge was the person who had taught her everything she knew about cooking.The self-made chef was a close family friend and has been in the Lightwoods lives’ since Isabelle can remember. Hodge was a childhood friend of Maryse. When Isabelle had introduced Simon to him, he’d been blown away at how young the man was. Sandy blonde hair, sharp features, and light blue eyes that seemed to twinkle when he smiled, framed a face of possible only thirty years.

Simon massaged his hand down his right calf, attempting to smooth out the knot that had appeared halfway during Isabelle’s tour. All the biking they had done today was a serious wake up call for him to start working out. Good thing the Italian countryside begged to be walked on.

Hodge ate lunch with them after he and Isabelle brought out their meals−Pasta with tomato sauce, with a hint of basil. Such a simple dish, but it tasted anything but. The wine was equally as good as they sipped in-between conversations.

 

 *     *     *

 

“Simon!” Robert waved as their bikes rolled up to the vineyard. “Welcome to my paradise!” He wore overalls and a straw hat, looking very much like the typical Italian farmer.

Simon and Isabelle abandoned the bikes on the side of the road and entered through a short swinging gate, leading into the vineyard.

The late afternoon air was warm, the light a softer yellow than earlier, with the sun shielded by clouds as they rolled by. Simon looked at the endless rows of grape vines curled up wooden posts.

“ _Buon pomeriggio papà_.” Isabelle kissed her father’s cheek, then wiped off dirt from his  other one.

“ _Grazie figlia mia”,_ Robert chuckled _,_ taking off his hat and patting his forehead with a handkerchief from the chest pocket of his overalls. “How was the tour?” he turned to Simon.

Before he could answer, two laughing figures were making their way towards them, and Simon noticed that Isabelle was suddenly no longer next to her dad as she was now running into the arms of the taller man.

He watched Isabelle's brother spin her around as if she weighed nothing, then he set her back down on the ground and resulted to tugging at her braid, playfully. She halfheartedly fended him off with her arm. It was the kind of sibling relationship that reminded Simon so much of the one he had with his own sister. Isabelle stepped away from her brother and hugged the blonde next to him. 

Alexander walked up and extended a tan arm.“You must be Simon.” He was at least six foot tall, Simon guessed, with black hair and brown eyes freckled with green. A change from the consistent dark brown eyes that the rest of his family had.

“Yeah and you must be Alexander." Simon shook his hand. “Nice to meet you”

“Call me Alec, please," he insisted. "Only my parents call me Alexander.”

“Really?" Interrupted a deep British voice, belonging to the blonde."I didn’t know Dr. Bane was your parent, too, that would be awkward." The comment obviously had a hidden connotation because it caused a rather deep blush to rise on the eldest Lightwood’s cheeks.

“Shut up, Jace,” Alec bit back under his breath.

The blonde extended his hand to Simon and introduced himself, unbothered by Alec's tone. 

Jace was handsome, even Simon couldn't deny that. Dark blonde hair blew across his face as the wind picked up, also lifting up the end of his light button down showing tanned skin, the sleeves rolled up his elbow, showing a hint of strong arms.

But his eyes, however, were what drew Simon in.They were unlike anything he'd ever seen before− the left a tantalizing blue, the color of the sky before the sun sets, and the right, the same blend of blue, but mixed with a splattering of dark brown, taking up half of the iris.

Simon realized that he was staring and snapped out his daze with a blush recovering by grabbing Jace’s outstretched hand. A calloused and warm hand engulfed his own in a firm grip. "Lewis Simon” he introduced, then winced, because _what the fuck_? Did he really just say his own name backwards? Simon looked up at Jace. He could tell that the blonde was trying really hard not to laugh, because of a small twitch at the corner of this mouth.

Next to the Jace, Isabelle covered her mouth with her hand, trying, and failing to hide her giggle. “Uh…” Simon cleared his throat, suddenly conscious of all the attention. “My name is not Lewis Simon. It's Simon Lewis. Two first names, I know," he babbled. He guessed the saying, "second time's the charm" didnt apply to him.

“Nice to meet you, _not_ Lewis Simon,” Jace replied with a smirk.

Their hands disconnected slowly, lingering slightly at the fingertips. He watched as Jace ran the same through his hair, pulling blonde locks back from his forehead to have them only fall back in front of his eyes seconds later.

Simon felt his hand twitch at his side.Jace's eyes lowered to the movement, then looked up at Simon, with a raised eyebrow. Simon quickly shoved them inside the front pocket of his shorts.They were in time out for misbehaving. 

“Will you be cooking for us tonight?” Jace asked Isabelle, turning his attention from Simon. “You know how much I love your cooking.”

Isabelle tilted her head. “Only if you promise to play for us afterwards,” she answered smoothly, then walked over to Simon’s side. “Jace plays the piano. He’s amazing.”

“You’re a musician?” Simon asked. He hadn't penned Jace as a piano playing guy. 

“Apparently only when Izzy’s cooking is on the line.” Jace scoffed. “I’m not a musician by any means, but my mother is. She’s a piano instructor at Cambridge," he explained. "So I kind of had to learn to play.”

“Simon plays the guitar. He brought it with him.” Isabelle offered, ignoring the look Simon shot over at her. "He’s a performance arts major."

“Oh?” Jace turned to him, a surprise look on his face. “I assume we’ll be hearing from you tonight, too?” Suddenly, Simon's heart quickened. He had never felt nervous about performing in front of people before. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. Then what was is about this moment now that caused the sudden nerves? "I don't... know,” he muttered, looking down at his feet. “I'd have to figure out something to play.”

Isabelle squeezed his arm lightly, noticing his sudden anxiety. “Simon, you don't have to if you don't want to. Anyway, Jace loves the spotlight." She turned to Jace. "He wouldn’t be able to share it. Would you?"

“She’s not wrong.” Jace admitted with a shrug and smug smirk. “However, I'm not opposed to sharing it...for certain people.”

Simon blinked several times, noticing the sudden deepness in Jace’s voice.  _Was that hint of flirting?_  He felt his face warm again. No, he didn't think so, but God, why then,  _couldn't he stop blushing._

Before he could say or do anyhthing more mortifying embarrsaing, Isabelle saved him again. Bless her. “I promised Simon a little tour of the vineyard." She hooked her arm around Simon’s and gave it a small squeeze. “We’ll see you guys back at home.” She tugged at his arm with a look and led him down a dirt row where she explained the mechanics of harvesting grapes and how to know which grapes were ready to picked, but for some reason his mind kept wondering to a certain blonde.                                 

 *     *     *

 

“How is your senior project going?” Maryse asked Jace across the table, before taking a sip of wine. They were all sitting around the large table in the Lightwood’s front yard eating Isabelle’s amazing cooking, once again.

Simon rubbed his stomach feeling like he just ate his entire weight and more.  _So much for getting in shape._

“It’s getting there,” Jace leaned back in his chair. “I have a couple of months before I have to submit it, but I’m hoping I can get some of it done while I’m here.”

“What's it about?” Simon asked, actually interested.

“A thesis on the different languages of love,” Jace answered, looking up at him. “Specifically, how different cultures view and show love,” he clarified, taking a drink of his wine.

Simon had not been expecting that answer. “Oh, that sounds…”

“...Complicated?” Jace laughed, putting his glass down. “Love usually is. But I'm more so, looking into the fundamentals and not the details. The details can get tricky.”

"And what about the end of the summer?" Maryse inquired. "Have you...has everything been planned?"

Jace stopped halfway from taking another sip of his wine, a shadow of a look crossed his face, but it slipped away like an afterthought, because he was smiling again, that lazy smile of his which Simon realized, he really liked. "Yes," he answered her. "It is going as planned."

Simon wanted to ask, what exactly was  _going as planned_  , but he didn't want to be nosy. He only just met the guy. But the way they were talking about whatever it was sounded like some top secret government mission to invade Russia.

 _Okay_ , maybe not Russia, but some other intense government.  

“Izzy says you’re going to play the piano for us,” Max said excitedly, interrupting Simon's overly detailed spy movie scenario in his head. “What will you play?" Max asked, his mouth full of pasta.

"Maximilian," Maryse interrupted with a frown. "Don't talk with your mouth full," she said, shaking her head.

Max ducked his head and mumbled a "sorry" in Italian, before quickly chewing and swallowing the food in his mouth. He finished his question to Jace, "What will you play?"

“I don’t know,” Jace looked at Max softly and smiled. “Why don’t you pick?”

 

Simon sat in a chair next to Isabelle as they all waited for Jace to begin. Jace took a long sip of his refilled wine, then placed the glass on top of the piano, and then began to play. Music flowed through the room like a blessing as long fingers flew up and down the keys.

When Isabelle had said that Jace was good, Simon had not been expecting him to be _this_ good.The way Jace played was like he was having a personal conversation with the piano. It whispered to him a tune, and he recreated it calmly and smoothly, as if they were old friends. The moment was breathtaking to watch and stunning to listen to. And what was even more astonishing was that it didn't even look like Jace was trying. His eyes were closed, feeling the music as his body moved with every crescendo and arpeggios he skillfully produced. 

Simon griped the sides of his chair as the music swelled until there was a moment where his heart just stopped, and there was nothing but the simple trills of the last notes being played as they lasted in the air.

Then the room was filled with silence. Everyone seemed taken a back for a brief second before they all started to clap, along with Max's failed attempt of a finger whistle, that had them all laughing as they continued to clap.

Jace got up from the piano bench and gave his audience an embellished bow. “Thank you, thank you.” He turned and grabbed his wine glass, downing the rest in one sip. “I’ll be here all summer.”

“Unfortunately.” Alec grumbled, rolling his eyes, but Simon heard the hint of affection, it was well hidden but there.

Jace grabbed at his own chest, gasping dramatically. “Oh how you wound me, Alec.” He walked over to Alec’s seat and threw a lazy arm around his friend’s shoulders. “All this time I thought you actually enjoyed my company.”

Simon watched the two of them banter back and forth with a smile and he laughed with the rest of the Lightwoods.

Everything felt right.The atmosphere.The smell of the fresh evening air flowing through the opening windows. Simon could get used to this.

 

*   *   *

 

He woke up the next morning with a loud yawn. Filters of sunlight entered through the translucent curtains in the room in skinny rays, a gentle breeze accompanying them. With only one eye open, he rubbed his face, and walked over to the window. It was the perfect day to go down to the lake.

Isabelle mentioned last night after dinner that the Lightwoods usually attended morning mass on Sunday when all the kids were together. And so since they wouldn't be returning until about noon, he would have to find something to do to kill the time.

He changed into loose jeans and a t-shirt, picked up his guitar and journal, and walked out his mini castle, closing the door behind him. Outside the entrance of the main villa was a basket of peaches sitting on a step. Simon grabbed one and stuffed it inside his pocket.

The walk down to the lake was peaceful and slow, the air smelling of fresh water with a tinge of salt, and he could already here the crashing of the waves.

He went down a small steep hill carefully, not wanting to be pushed down by the strong breeze that was pushing his back.

The lake was gentle with rays of light danced delicately across the water, making it glimmer like diamonds. As his feet hit the warm sand, he noticed a man a couple feet away, shirtless, reclining back on a cream blanket on the sand, a hand propped up under his chin, reading a book. 

 _Jace_.

For a second, Simon wondered if he should turn around and find some place else to sit, not wanting to disrupt Jace’s quiet reading and still remembering what being around this person he had just met made him feel, but his question was answered for him when Jace looked up from his book in that moment, with a wave and a small inviting smile on his face.

“You’re not at church,” Simon observed when he finally reached where Jace sat. He took a seat on the edge of the blanket.

“Neither are you,” Jace replied, putting his book down in front of him.

“I’m Jewish,” Simon explained.

“I know.” 

 _How did he know that?_  Simon must have had a confused expression on his face because, Jace then pointed to his neck. 

 _Oh._ _Duh_.

Simon looked down at gold pendant of the Star of David he always wore on a chain around his neck. It had been his father’s, before he passed away. He wore it every day to keep his father's memory close to his heart, and a reminder of his faith, and what it meant to him.

He looked up and found those unique eyes staring at his chest as if it held all the secrets of the world, but honestly, it just held his heart, which thumped in his chest in response to the attention Jace was giving it.

Simon distracted himself by pulling out his guitar from its case, something familair which he knew would calm him. He could sense Jace’s eyes on his face, watching him quietly, but he refused to look up. Simon plucked a few chords and winced when he heard how out of tune the guitar was. His fingers fumbled around the pegs as he adjusted them to the correct tune alignment.

“How long have you been playing?”

“Almost all my life." Simon plucked a couple strings, already sounding a lot better than before. “My dad taught me before he passed eight years ago."

“I’m sorry for your loss," Jace said.

Simon stopped playing.Their eyes met, and they stared at each other quietly with nothing but the crashing of the waves to fill the silence. “Thank you," he finally replied with a tight smile.

The silence between them stretched longer than he was comfortable with and he did not bode well in silence. “So, what are you reading?" quickly changing the subject. Talking about his father was usually a topic he tried to avoid especially around someone he barely even know. "You were reading a different book yesterday."

Jace raised a blonde eyebrow. “I was, yeah, he confirmed. He picked up the book he had been reading and showed the cover to Simon. “This one is called _Don Quijote_ by Miguel de Cervantes.”

“Any good?”

“Not really,” he answered, flipping through the pages. “I haven’t been able to get into it. It's a bit boring at parts.”

Simon nodded.

His stomach quenched below reminding him that he had brought something to eat. He took the peach out from his pocket then wiped it with his shirt before taking a large bite. It was sweet and a bit tangy, not too juicy, but not exactly dry. He closed his eyes, savoring the sweet fruit.

“Can I have a bite?”

Simon's eyes blinked open, completely caught off guard. “What?” The word came out in a high pitch and he cleared his throat to mask it.

“Can I have a bite of your peach?” Jace repeated, nodding at the fruit in Simon's hand as if he were asking the simplest of things, which might have had been but to Simon it felt nothing but simple. 

"Are you sure?" Simon asked. "I already bit into it." He didn't mind sharing his food with Clary because they had done it since they were kids, but he knew some people weren't to keen on it.

"It's okay. I don't care."

Simon looked at the peach, then back at Jace."Okay." His mother had always taught him to share and he felt like she was there with them staring daggers at him to make sure he did.

He turned the peach around to the side that hadn't already been eaten from and held it out to Jace. But instead of Jace taking the peach from Simon's hand, he wrapped his hand around Simon’s wrist. “Wh−what are you doing?” Simon breathed out, looking down at the warmth on his wrist, heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“You said I could have a bite,” Jace answered matter-of-factly. He leaned in and took a bite of the peach his hands were still wrapped around Simon's wrist. Jace was so close now. So close, Simon could smell the shampoo he wore. It was a faint smell, like fresh laundry.Seconds later, Jace pulled slowly, his eyes boring into Simon's. “It’s good."

Simon nodded, his mouth opening and closing slightly, unable to say anything. He could still feel the imprint of Jace’s hand on his wrist when he brought his arm down to his lap, rubbing it gently with the hand not holding the peach. His eyes went down to the place where Jace had bitten into the peach, then back up at him.

Jace had a curious look on his face, which was replaced moments later with a small smile. “I’m going for a swim” He said, voice completely neutral as if nothing had occurred. "Wanna join?” 

Simon turned to the lake. The water did look inviting, he thought, looking at the waves rolling back and forth  gently with the soft breeze, but he hadn’t planned on going for a swim.

He cleared his throat and looked down at his jeans. “I didn’t really come dressed for a swim,” he admitted, blushing again still feeling of balance.

Jace shrugged and got up, brushing sand from his navy blue shorts, then walked over to where the waves whispered the sand. Simon totally did not check out Jace's his ass, and when Jace turned around to face him, his eyes jerked up immediately to hide the fact that he had..

"We’re the only ones here.” Jace pointed out. “No one will see.”

He wasn't wrong. Besides two of them the beach was empty. Though, Simon's nose scrunched in confusion at what Jace had meant by _No one will see._

 _S_ imon then watched in shock as Jace pulled down his shorts, revealing  _Oh,_ a very naked backside.  _So that was what he meant._ He turned his head away quickly, looking at anywhere but the very naked man a few feet away from him.

"I- I think" Simon's cheeks burned. "I'm going to head back," he said, not even loud enough for Jace to have heard. He quickly put his guitar back in its case along with the journal and headed back up the hill.

Once he was up the hill, he daringly turned back to the lake and in that moment, he saw Jace’s bare ass disappear into the water as the waves met his dive. He turned and walked away, the peach squeezed gently in his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave comments! Part 2 will be out later in the fall. Also, if you type in "the language of love" in spotify, my fic playlist will be the top result.


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